Remember
by Vladmitry
Summary: He knew that weirdo. He was sure of it. - Movie-verse.


Orin Scrivello hopped off his motorcycle and watched as it slowly glided to a stop, whirling around and smoothing his hair while some immigrant parked it. He shimmered over the stairs and burst into the waiting room, his heart quickening slightly, as it did every morning, at the sight of a roomful of people he would soon be hacking into.

Well, their mouths anyway. He'd considered a career in surgery, but hey, let's face it: what's the fun in cutting people up if they can't even look at you?

The day went by peacefully, just the right amount of wimpy patients for it to be pleasant without being tiresome. Though towards the end he _did_ get one girl badly in need of major work. Well, Orin though so, anyway. It was time he got rid of that spare brace anyhow.

Once done, he had plenty of spunk left. Maybe he'd take Audrey out on a date, air her out a little. She'd been pretty busy over at that old guy's shop with what'shisname, Simon? Something like that. Seymour, yeah. Plant guy.

Still pumped from the girl, he jived out the first examination room and into the hall, wiping a hand on his black PVC apron.

'Next!'

'It's me!'

Orin's head turned to the voice, first, because of how loud it was; second, because this man sounded strangely familiar, though he couldn't have been there before, he wouldn't have been so happy if he had. That kind of enthusiasm wasn't healthy. A guy isn't supposed to sound like that at the dentist's, of all places.

There was also the fact that he happened to be standing on his chair, but that was a detail.

'Arthur Denton! I'm next!'

'Nurse!' Orin snapped, intercepting the fat woman as she tried to rush off, 'does, uh, _that_, have an appointment?'

The nurse just shot him a bored glance that said 'ask him, I'm off duty.' Which, coincidentally, was exactly what she replied.

This Arthur character jumped from his chair, landing uncomfortably close to Orin. The best thing to do was to ignore him. Get this over with. And try to see where this nagging feeling of recognizing this guy was coming from.

'I've been saving all month for this. I think I need a root canal. I'm sure I need a long… slow… root canal.' The man dry swallowed. Orin turned to look at him, the stress on those last words striking an interest. Root canals were his favourite. He couldn't turn this guy down. Even though he did look like he was checking the doctor out before offering his mouth for inspection. One of _those_. Jee-zus, you couldn't take a step in New York without tripping over a Jew or a faggot, could you?

'Let's go,' he snarled.

'I have a history of dental problems-'

'Shut up.'

Arthur stopped and breathed out, his mouth curling into a smile.

'Yes, doctor,' he happily skipped past Orin and into the room. The dentist hesitated for a second. Where did he _know_ this guy from, goddamn it?

* * *

The music was too damn loud. A guy couldn't even hear himself _think_ in there. It usually wouldn't have mattered, you don't go to clubs for thinking, but what happens when you start thinking once you're already _in_ the club? They oughta put a silent place in there, where a guy could think if he wanted to think. It wouldn't even be so bad if the music wasn't complete shit.

Most music you could get in the 50s were just whiny love songs sung men in stupid outfits or girls in snappy dresses trying to be all provocative without coming off as sluts. Those black girl bands weren't too bad, he had to say, but that wasn't even what they played here, just songs by English pop bands and that jazzy stuff. What happened to American music? Put on some Elvis, goddamn it.

There had to be some explanation for these tasteless records. He glanced around. Then again. And again. Aw, Christ, one of those faggot clubs. Why'd they have to look so normal, huh? Someone had to explain that to him. Why, a guy could just get out of college for the day, want to go out on a night about town and waltz right into one of these places if he wasn't paying full attention. He had enough trouble with 'funny' guys on a daily basis. It wasn't his fault if he had some class, some style, some flair! Didn't give them the right to get on his ass to, well, get on his ass.

He oughta turn them all in, everyone in the room, just to be able to stand outside with the cops and watch their faces. He would. After he finished his drink. Damn good drinks. Maybe it was worth keeping this place around if the drinks were always this good. He'd come back and check it out, and then turn them all in.

He was nearly done downing his whiskey when he heard a little giggle on his side.

'Hi!'

Orin gave him a sideways glance. Just a man a bit taller than he was, maybe a bit older, and dressed pretty snazzy. Christ. A guy couldn't even stay for five minutes to get a drink in peace.

'I was just talking to some friends over there,' he continued, indicating some similarly-dressed men at the other side of the room, 'and we all thought you look like a pretty darn interesting fellow. It took me _hours_ to work up the courage to come talk to you, really. I like your jacket. I'd like to get a jacket like that, it's swell! Leather's a great material, I've only ever had leather shoes like everyone else but-'

'I ain't been here hours, kid, and I'm not interested,' Orin sneered, taking the final shot of his whisky and slamming the small glass down, 'so how's about you fuck off?' That should do it.

But the man looked even gigglier then, leaning into the side of the bar. At the other side of the room, the men were nudging each other; all murmuring they'd been right.

'Fair enough, but I did go through the trouble of making a fool of myself. Could I at least get your name?'

'What's it to you?' Orin snapped. This guy couldn't be a cop, could he? He was pretty faggy and all, but you had to be a good actor to be an undercover cop, like Izzy and Moe. Except for queers.

'Just out of interest! But, you know, if it'd make it easier, I could tell you mine. I'm Arthur, Arthur Denton. I don't have a middle name.'

He extended a hand.

* * *

'I went to a terrible dentist on a Wednesday, who was recommended to me by somebody I saw on Monday, who's the brother of a man I usually see on Sundays, and their mother actually taught them everything that they know and she's incredibly gifted and a lot of people think she shouldn't be working-'

Did this guy ever shut up? Orin had had time to adjust the height Arthur's seat, wash his hands and shape up for the examination. Christ. That nitrous oxide was looking very tempting.

'I wish I had that strength,' he babbled, popping cotton into his mouth, 'cause I can only go so long. That's how I wanna be. I don't ever want to have to be-'

Orin managed to shock the man into silence by violently pulling the chair into a reclining position.

'Comfy?'

'Yes, doctor.'

The dentist went to get his tools when Arthur opened his mouth again to come out with another string of mindless, skull-numbing information. Maybe a little look at said tools would be a good deterrent. He grabbed a favourite of his, a pair of spiky pliers, and flashed them clearly into Arthur's view.

'…and I thought 'oh my gosh, everyone calls him doctor and he's not really a doctor' and oh my _god_,' yep, he'd seen them, if the sharp intake of breath and him sitting up were any indication. Orin nonchalantly dropped them on a little table and went back to his drawer of shiny marvels.

'O-only I got out of there okay and then,' more talk, talk talk talk, that guy could talk a donkey's back leg off. He could probably talk all its limbs off. Another instrument flash was in order, this time in the form of Marilyn, his old tongue-puller, 'and then,' a bonking sound as Arthur's head hit the lamp, 'when it was finished they gave me a candy bar and I thought 'this is what I get, a candy bar?''

His having a bit of a lisp due to the mouthful of cotton didn't make the interminable speech any better. Orin gave him a frustrated half-grin and went on with his strategy. It was pretty fun hearing the man's pitch rise and seeing him squirm whenever he took out another instrument.

'This is what you do, you go through your little thing and you get _chocolate_ out of it, for getting through one of the most _incredible_ professions, you use incredibly, incredibly wonderful equipment-'

'Now let's take a look at that mouth,' Orin said smoothly, forcing the man to lie back down and wielding his first tool, which made Arthur's expression change, but not really into the one of terror Orin had hoped for.

'Say 'ah'.'

His mirthful yell could be heard all over the building.

* * *

Orin slapped the man's hand away. He was starting to be a real pain in the neck.

'I don't care if you're called Arthur, Tony or fucking Marlene, I'm outta here.'

He zipped up his leather jacket and started to move towards the door, only to have Arthur grab onto his arm. Not forcefully, but in a way just ballsy enough to make Orin whirl around and sock him square in the jaw, sending the other man reeling back, clutching his face.

'I told you, I ain't interested! Goddamn queers!' he spat, breathing hard and feeling his fist throb under the pain. No one moved for a couple of seconds, most of the patrons shaking in fear, though the music kept playing the background, some more Jazz. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have been so quick to throw punches in a normal club, but what were they gonna do, call the cops? Arthur finally moved his hands from his face, showing a little smile.

'Ouch,' he breathed, poking at his new split lip, 'you got me pretty good. I think I'll have to go to the dentist's,' at that, he touched one of his back teeth while blood trickled down his chin and added, giggling: 'I sure hope so, anyway.' The group of men in the back laughed.

Orin gave him a dirty look, then reached into his jacket pocket and started shoving his gloves on, muttering under his breath all the while he headed to the door. He didn't know how those morons had guessed he was in dental school, but you don't make fun of a guy's job prospects like that, it ain't done. He needed to blow off some steam before things really started flying. Arthur broke out of his post-punch lethargy and dogged his steps.

'Look, I'm not gonna stop you from leaving,' he babbled, 'I can't, really, but, well, are you gonna be back sometime? Cause I don't come here too often but they've got a pretty good groove and great service but the crowd's so-so, I mean, they're nice but we have other kinda interests and so as I said I was wondering if you usually come here or-'

The punch obviously hadn't worked, so Orin stopped in his tracks and swiftly turned the man around, twisting Arthur's arm behind his back and eliciting a yelp. He rushed Arthur into the bar, slamming his stomach against the side and bending him over the top.

'You're quite the little chatterbox, ain't ya? Huh, boy?' Orin further twisted Arthur's arm, still keeping him pinned down. God, he wished he could see the expression on the guy's face. All Orin could get were the little moans he made and his wriggling under Orin's weight. It felt fantastic. Sure, he'd been able to bash in a cat's head here and there, but he wasn't allowed to practice on patients yet and he hadn't had chances for real fun in months.

People were starting to leave the club, while others just retired to far-away corners and managed to get on with their conversations. The barman disappeared into a door behind shelves crammed full of bottles. Orin grabbed hold of Arthur's hair and threw his head onto the bar top, getting a heavy, drawn-out groan as a reward, which was the final touch to Orin's excitement. He could feel himself get hard. Arthur could probably feel it, even through Orin's tight biker trousers, and that was just not gonna fly. He pulled Arthur up and held him so Orin could comfortably whisper in his ear.

'If you tell anyone about- _this_,' he hissed, 'I'll bust your kneecaps.'

'Oh, stop,' Arthur said, his voice a pitch higher, 'I'm embarrassed enough as it is!'

Orin looked around Arthur's head and saw Arthur's cronies sniggering amongst themselves, looking in a direction suspiciously close to Arthur's crotch. Orin looked away in disgust, trailing the other man after him and throwing him out on the pavement outside, giving him a swift kick in the stomach for good luck.

'Goddamn sicko,' he snarled, hopping on his motorbike. He caught Arthur's gaze in the rear-view mirror as the latter staggered to his feet, clutching at his middle. Orin revved up the engine and started speeding down the street.

'Wait!' he heard Arthur wail, 'I didn't even get your name!'

* * *

'Yeah! Come on!' Arthur clapped in hands, almost commandingly. That wasn't at all a good reaction when you get out the drill, but Orin pressed forward, determined to make the man suffer at least a bit. He half mounted his patient for better access, grimacing in concentration. None of the arsenal had succeeded so-far, but this had to.

Instead, Arthur let out a quick succession of progressively loud groans, grabbing on to the dentist's shoulder and kneading it, while Orin continued furiously drilling into the tooth. And then, with Arthur's loudest moan, it hit him. He knew this annoying banter-spewer, the guy who'd never shut or let up. The guy at the bar. Goddamn it, he'd gotten hard because of him, once, years ago. Christ. They both were, now.

'Get outta here.' Orin strained, interrupting Arthur's blissful after-sighs. He frowned.

'What's wrong?'

'_Get outta here_.'

'What's the matter?' he asked, spitting out the cotton wads and gingerly getting up from his seat, sounding weirdly concerned. Orin wasn't having any of that.

'Come on, get outta here!' the dentist pushed him out of the room, trying not to look at his face. Had Arthur recognized him? He'd been ten years younger, and he'd had different hair, but still, you can't forget the Scrivello touch. He led Arthur down to the front door.

'Right this way.'

'I'm going to tell each and one of my friends about you, and they're gonna hear it-'

'Just get ou-' Orin had pushed a hand against the taller man's breast, when he felt something. He brushed the jacket open and got one of his favourite tools out of Arthur's inside pocket.

'What's this!'

'Oops!' he laughed, retreating through the door, 'Sorry!'

Orin slammed the door. Arthur was gone. Orin tumbled back against the closed door, holding his pliers for comfort. What if he came back? He probably would too, he'd enjoyed himself enough. That stupid nurse would probably let him get another appointment, too. What if he became a… regular?

'Goddamn sicko,' Orin breathed, passing a small, seated man.

This was definitely the worst thing that could happen to him that day.

The End


End file.
